Anchor Points

Yep... good old summer poetry. Enjoy?

I was never the master of my convulsions

Flinch of the eye, tick in my neck

Punctuates my lust, not a period

But an exclamation point

And a prompt for my swelling heart.

 

Poise a dart at my bulbous eye

Take care in your aim, they travel quicker

Than any intangible thought, all over your body

Never your eye, where I think I really could seize

Drag me into your pool where I cannot pulsate-

 

I might shatter this thing so many times

It cannot bear up and cross the floor

Buckles at the knees. A fingernail in the basement

An elbow in the kitchen, scattered

Like grandfather’s ashes in Tasso’s selfish gut.

The End

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